Marc Jillson & The Gazebo (Love Inscribed 2)

“Last night?” We ate pasta, I invited myself to stay, we bonded over hummingbirds . . . “Nothing happened last night.”

Hunter’s scoffed words tickled between my shoulder blades. “Of course something happened last night.”

Really? I didn’t feel sore. Oh God, I’d had that wonderful dream I was pushing my cock in a tight, warm—Fuck, did I maul Hunter?

“Stop looking petrified.”

“My back’s to you,” I said. “How do you know I look petrified?”

“You’re tensing. I can extrapolate.”

“Could you extrapolate on why I’m naked in your bed?”

“You insisted on stripping before climbing under the sheets. Something about not wanting to hide anything from me.”

Sounded vaguely familiar. Part of my drunken epiphany about trust right before sleep consumed me. “What do you mean something happened last night?”

“You came to Phoenix.”

I twisted, facing a haughtily amused Hunter. Relief shimmered through me and I shoved his chest. “I told you, I go there all the time.” Hunter’s sleep-wrecked hair was sexy. “Quite surprised to see you there, actually.”

Hunter rolled his eyes and shoved me back. I went with the touch, rolling onto my back. Hunter propped himself on his elbow and twisted the black marker between his fingers.

I raised a questioning brow.

“I’ve been thinking of getting another tattoo.” He uncapped the lid.

The pen touched my smooth chest, cold and wet. He drew curved lines. Leaves. The marker drifted over my hard nipple and I bit my lip on a sensual shiver. More leaves, lower, pen dancing over my abdomen, lower, drawing a teasing line where the sheets pooled at the top of my pubic hair. “You have nothing to hide, Marc.”

“I couldn’t now if I wanted to.” The outline of my half-hard dick was obvious.

“No.” He drew more leaves along my side and met my eyes. “You have nothing to hide.”

Our eyes met, and I swallowed. I desperately wanted to kiss him.

I cupped Hunter’s cheek, stubble rough against my palm, fingers pinching the soft lobe of his ear. His chest seemed to stop undulating, like he was holding his breath. So was I.

My cell phone beeped from the mess of clothes. My Saturday alarm. I sagged back from the tension. “Oh, fuck. It’s ten?”

I lurched out of bed, glad for the reprieve but hating it in equal measure.

I booked an Uber and shimmied into my jeans, commando, like the night before.

Hunter watched me from his bed. He’d collapsed face down, and his tight blue boxers clung to the gentle mounds of his ass. A hummingbird peeked out the elastic waist at one cheek. The firm muscles of his back and tattooed shoulders were on full display.

He caught me ogling and shifted, bracing himself on an elbow. “Why are you hurrying?”

My whole body goosebumped as I lunged for my T-shirt. “I have a standing grocery date with my uncle.”

I hadn’t seen or heard from Uncle Ben since I’d phoned Jason. Damn, this would be a fun morning.

“Is that all?” I battled down the ball of butterflies in my stomach.

“Sure.”

I halted before yanking down my shirt. Hunter’s body art came into focus. A picture of a plant with . . . penises dangling from it?

I swung in his direction. “Not the humor I expected after my Willie Stroker fail.”

He tossed a pillow at me and I caught it against a chest of ink penises.

“That’s a picture of Peter,” he said.

The name had me freezing immediately. “Peter?”

Hunter smirked, and there was something devilishly gleeful about it. “My pepper plant.”

I peeled back the pillow and stared at my chest. “You love Peter,” I muttered. Hunter’s smirk twitched. “Your pepper plant.”

Hunter shifted his leg and sat against the headboard. I hoped he didn’t notice my shoulders sagging with relief.

Because, like, he could love whoever he wanted to.

Didn’t matter to me.

“I’ve gotta run, but we’ll talk about your love of penis plants later.”

“For real. Why are you hurrying?”

I turned my socks the right way and slipped them on, hopping about.

“Marc?”

I gave up on the second sock. “I want to kiss you!”

He looked startled. A laugh pebbled out of him and he patted the bed. “Get over here.”

I shook my head, backing to the door. “I can’t.”

“Give me one good reason.”

“Here’s three. My mouth is parched, my breath reeks, and my brain is trying to drumroll its way out of my head.”

I ducked out of the room before he did any more luring.

Hunter laughed after me. “Don’t be long.”

I jammed into my shoes and raced out the door. “Another reason I’m hurrying.”

I raced into Uncle Ben’s house, stomach balling in preparation for a confrontation. He wasn’t in. I grabbed the wad of cash atop the grocery list and took a head-pounding walk to the supermarket.

If only he’d left some indication of his mood. A note or a text telling me that we’d talk about this.

God, he’d done so much for me. Given up so much.